


Happy Birthday

by lookingforatardis



Category: Actor RPF, Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Angst, Birthday Party, M/M, Memories, More angst, Phone Calls, Tumblr Prompt, that one time armie went on a /family/ vacation during timmy's birthday party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 23:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13375191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingforatardis/pseuds/lookingforatardis
Summary: (abridged) Prompt: Armie calls Timmy to wish him a happy birthday and they’re both hiding their emotions. Then, two days later, Armie calls late at night to wish him happy birthday again during the party. Angst fight ensues...





	Happy Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the lovely @holdmebyyourgaze who requested this. To see the actual full prompt, go here: lookingforatardis.tumblr.com/post/169205436492/can-you-write-a-fic-where-armie-calls-to-wish
> 
> this switches POV so I could get the details from the actual prompt in, and also so I could up the angst factor. I also made the second call on the night of his birthday party, which was two days after his actual birthday. It’s also told after the fact, so all of the phone calls happen in the past and they’re both trapped in memory of what they said and what it means for them. . .enjoy, lol

_—Timmy—_

He had called early in the morning. I was barely even awake, to be honest. I’d been up late reading scripts the night before and fell asleep with one open on my chest after Pauline called at midnight. His ringtone had broken me from a dream that slipped away as soon as I heard his voice, a bright, “Happy Birthday!” booming over the speaker, followed by a much higher voice singing happy birthday which could only belong to Harper. I smiled and turned over onto my side, holding the phone closer to keep the sound near and tucked my comforter over my body to prevent the warmth of sleep from escaping. I hummed, eyes closing to picture him with his family but taking the time to call me first thing in the morning. It was a nice picture, though I couldn’t help but wish he had been here in New York with me instead. A selfish thought, but an honest one I would never voice.

“Thanks,” I had laughed and covered my eyes with my arm.

“Oh god, did we wake you?” he asked, suddenly alarmed. I smiled. He forgot sometimes that people who don’t have children typically sleep in past 6am if they can help it. I mumbled a _no_ , but I knew he could see through it; sleep was still dripping from my voice. “Well wake up, don’t want to waste your birthday!” he said. “22! That’s pretty big. Catching up to me,” he joked.

“Yeah, I’m practically an old man now,” I had teased him, going for light to keep off the topic of wanting him here with me. When he told me he wasn’t going to be coming to New York for my birthday, I hid the disappointment pretty well. And by pretty well I mean after he hung up with me, he ended up asking Elizabeth if they could push their trip off for a day or two so he could come visit. I got a call from her asking if I was alright, Armie’s worried, etc. and had to explain his overreaction. She bought my story much easier than he had, though I was embarrassed all the same.

“What the hell does that make me, ancient?” he laughed. I liked his laugh, it reminded me of the hill we rode our bikes down in Italy. We talked for a little while, talked until I was fully awake and started getting variations of generic _happy birthday_ messages from people. I had to keep telling him to hold on so I could glance at them until finally, laughing, he asked if he should just go. _No, god no_ , I had thought.

“When do you leave?” I asked him instead. He’d become so good at reading the inflection of my voice over the phone that it was honestly a little weird. _Tomorrow_ , he said. _Are you packed_? He laughed, asked what I thought. That meant _he_ hadn’t packed, but Elizabeth probably had for him. Or was, while we spoke. _Is Nick going?_ The question I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer to. _No,_ he said. _Just family_ , he said.

It was always odd when he said things like that, not that he did often. Nick and I were usually included in “family.” Sometimes others, as well. The Hammer family, I had learned, was a lot larger than their little four person party. _Just family_ felt like a foreign concept when it didn’t include me, didn’t even include Nick. It was another reminder of his life being apart from my own, another reminder of the part of him I didn’t have access to and never would. A bond we couldn’t share because she got to say _I do_ before I even had a chance to say _hello_.

He had been quiet after that, both of us were. I didn’t realize it in the moment, but looking back I understand that his silence was his way of holding back from correcting himself, or perhaps from amending the statement. His way of carefully preventing himself from saying something that could incriminate his heart. He was always like that, needing to be prompted to say the things he naturally kept close to the chest. It was endearing a lot of the time, but sometimes it just hurt. I sat quietly thinking about how I wasn’t his family while he had been sitting there quietly thinking about how I absolutely was.

It was crazy how two days can give you the insight you thought you wanted, insight which changes everything and nothing, insight which breaks your heart more than you thought possible.

We had hung up not long after the silence, him telling me happy birthday again and me saying thank you, again. I got up afterwards and showered the conversation off my mind, then dressed for the day. Pauline and I got lunch. She asked about him; she always did. She seemed to sense the topic wasn’t exactly birthday friendly and moved on, though, soon after I’m sure my expression revealed the conversation from the morning. She changed subjects and talked about the new guy she had met, how cute he was. We chatted for a long time—I’m pretty sure we irritated all the waiters with how long we stayed at the restaurant actually. Afterwards, I hung out with Ansel and some buddies from our old circle, something we hadn’t done in a while. It was nice to see them, and though I had known the real party wasn’t actually on my birthday—it wasn’t until _today_ —we went out that night and got drunk to celebrate anyway. It was a good night, I didn’t even think about him when a guy started hitting on me on the dance floor, a miracle to say the least considering how blue his eyes had been.

Yesterday was worse. I woke up with a hangover and the knowledge that he was getting on a plane with his _family_ to go on a _family_ vacation. Pauline texted me a screenshot of a picture he liked on Instagram which sent me spiraling. I told her she wasn’t helping, and she replied that I needed to give his heart more credit, that he loved me more than I knew. I wish I would have just listened to her instead of bottling the pain up. Maybe if I had called him _then_ , maybe I wouldn’t be standing out here right now. Maybe he would have told me he missed me, and I would have said it back. Maybe we would have talked about it.

But then again, maybe it would have had the same result as it had tonight.

 

 _—Armie—_  

I felt like absolute shit yesterday. Elizabeth asked if I was feeling sick or something, but I brushed it off, telling her I just didn’t sleep well (which, to be fair, wasn’t a lie) and that the plane made me a little motion sick. When we got here, everything was just different enough from my childhood that it was unsettling and disrupted my equilibrium. I wanted to go back down my old streets, but the beach had been the priority for everyone else. I relented, bargaining with myself to go today, alone. Maybe I’d call him again, I had thought.

I texted him yesterday once to let him know we make it here safely, but he only replied with _good, im glad. have fun_. I tried not to read into the period, into the lack of emotion. It was just a text. He had replied, which was the important part.  He was probably just out with friends or something, maybe his sister. I knew the 27-29 were a sort of continuous, almost ubiquitous celebration for his birthday. It disseminated the festivities and significance of the actual 27th, but it gave him the chance to have an actual party tonight with a little more distance from the Christmas craze. That was good, I thought. He would be with friends today and they would get drunk like 22 year-olds should and it would probably be a great memory. Maybe he’d make out with some girl from high school and laugh about it later. I hated that I wasn’t going to be there for it, almost as much as I hated that I hadn’t been there for his actual birthday.

I drove around earlier today and stopped by my old buddy’s house. I couldn’t shake the sense of nostalgia for the rest of the day; his front door was the same shade of tan with that dumb hide-a-key rock as empty as ever sitting next to the door. It was as if time stood still here, as if I never moved to LA, never met Elizabeth, never met Timmy. It was the first and perhaps only moment of my life where I even began to grasp what André meant when he wrote about the San Clemente Syndrome in the book. I felt like Elio walking these streets, my past merging with the present, layers upon layers of memories accumulating until they were indistinguishable and yet utterly separated from one another. When I returned to the beach, the feeling had settled deep into my soul, and though I enjoyed spending the time with my family more than words could express, my mind was simply elsewhere.

Perhaps that’s why I called him; he was the only one who I knew would understand, and just hearing his voice could ground me and sober my mind when it raced around itself like this. I’d told myself I called for his birthday, but just maybe—if I were to be honest—this was the true reason: I missed him and the way he always made me feel understood when I didn’t understand myself.

It was selfish to call him tonight. In retrospect, it was downright cruel. How was I to know what would happen, though? I had no idea my call would cause him so much distress, cause _us_ so much distress. I stare out at the waves and sigh, letting the wind wisp around me. The stars looked essentially the same as when I was a kid, but they weren’t quite as bright. I knew logically it was because of the additional light pollution, but I couldn’t help but feel it was also because of what he said, why he wouldn’t let _me_ say what I had wanted to say. Maybe the stars would never be bright again.

It was after dinner when I decided to go for a walk. Elizabeth could tell something had been off all day, but assumed it had to do with being back here after all this time. We talked about it a little. I wasn’t sure if she knew it went much deeper but I suspected; last night she asked if I was still sad we missed Timmy’s birthday—I think a part of her knew. I walked for awhile before I realized what I had been doing; the area we were had pretty iffy cell service, but about two miles down the road there was a hot spot of sorts that never dropped calls. I’d walked there, lost in my reverie, unaware of the subconscious necessity to hear his voice. I sat on a rock a little ways away from the gentle waves and pressed call, knowing he would be far into his party by then. It rang so many times I almost gave up, until finally his voice came over the speaker, _Armie?_ He had sounded so confused, though there was a giddy lift in the sound that told me he was drunk. Music blared and I could hear laughter and shouting. _Hold on! Oh my god, I can’t believe you called!_ It had simultaneously warmed and shattered my heart.

 _“Okay, I can talk—hey!”_ he had said once the noise sounded muffled. I assumed he walked into a different room.

 _“How’s the party?”_ I asked him. I didn’t really care, I just cared that I wasn’t there. Again, I wish I could go back and tell myself to stop, to never press call, to rewind and erase the layer the phone call created in my memories.

 _“It’s awesome! Wish you were—”_ he had been interrupted by a couple from the sound of it— _“Get out!”_ Timmy had laughed. _“Oh man, Armie—I was talking to this guy and he said that you were basically his dream guy. It was pretty funny, he was pretty drunk. Oh! The neighbors knocked on the door—”_ I tried remembering the story now, only an hour later, but couldn’t. I realize now that I didn’t listen to a lot of his drunk stories tonight—I mostly just listened to his voice, to the intonation, the inflection, the emotion, the genuine excitement and life in his words. It made me ache; he was so far away. _“Oh wait—you called_ me— _what’s up? Is something wrong? It’s fucking late!”_ he had asked.

I look over the water and replay my answer over and over in my mind, wondering if there could have been a better way to say it, if there was a way for me to save spoken without hurting him, without us fighting. _“No, nothing’s wrong.”_ I told him. I had debated telling him I missed him, telling him that I wished I was there or that he was here, that we were together and that things weren’t so goddamn complicated these days. But what I told him, what started the whole thing, was, _“I guess, happy birthday. Again.”_

He was quiet for a moment, his voice somber when he responded, odd for his inebriated state. _“You already told me that, two days ago,”_ he said. _“You didn’t have to call again.”_

 _“I know,_ ” I had told him. Then, against my better judgment, _“I wanted to. I’m missing everything, I wanted to at least tell you one more time._ ”

He had sighed, I could almost see him ball his fist up and tuck it under his neck. _“Armie,_ ” he said. I could still hear it in my mind, could still feel the way his voice had dropped. _“I’m at a party,”_ he told me, as if I didn’t know. I didn’t realize what he actually meant was _I’m having fun, please don’t._ I wish I had known.

_“I was driving around these streets today, one’s I’d been on a million times. It was so crazy, I just kept seeing things that were exactly the same next to brand new cars or businesses and nothing felt real. I tried to explain it to Elizabeth but I don’t think I explained it right because she seemed confused. I wanted to call you, because of that day in New York when we were walking around together and you said it felt like your childhood had somehow morphed into the future and we were walking on a tightrope line between the two. Like San Clemetente—”_

_“Stop it.”_

_“Syndrome except—wait, why? What’s wrong?”_ I didn’t understand that I didn’t have the right to talk about things like this with him at midnight when he was enjoying himself with all his friends that I didn’t fit in with. I didn’t realize that talking about the time I visited him in New York was off limits, that talking about it hurt him. I didn’t know, I just didn’t know. I wouldn’t have brought it up if he had just told me sooner, if I had been able to understand.

 _“You really don’t get it, do you? Listen to yourself, Armie. Do you even realize what you’re saying? What you’re doing?”_ I remember being confused, trying to dissect my answer and coming up blank. _“You’re on a_ family _vacation, Armie. Your_ family. _Why are you making this trip about me?”_

 _“I wasn’t,”_ I had told him. I didn’t understand that he was right, that I had been making it about him since before we even left.

 _“You visited your old streets, alone, and thought about me. Armie, this is not okay, you can’t do this, and you_ can’t _tell me when you do! It’s not fair,”_ he told me. I could still hear the quiver in his voice now, the sound translated over space and time to echo in these waves crashing in front of me. I would dream of the quiver in his voice, I was sure. It would haunt me.

_“I don’t understand.”_

_“Why did you really call me, Armie? Why?”_ A little crab poked up from the sand a few feet to my left and I watched it scurry away. I wish I could forget the conversation, I wish I hadn’t called. I wouldn’t hurt so much if I hadn’t called.

 _“I don’t know, I guess I just missed you?”_ Wrong answer, I tell my past self.

 _“You_ missed me? _On your_ family _vacation?”_ The venom that flooded his voice out of nowhere still send dread through my body in memory.

_“Am I not allowed to miss you?”_

_“No! Not when missing me means calling me at fucking midnight and reminiscing about New York and the last goddamn time we kissed. Or do you not remember? How you kissed me in that alley, cutting me off when I told you about the tightrope. Did you forget that? Did you forget how afterwards you said it was a mistake and we pretended it never happened? Did you not have to pretend to forget? Because I have to, every day, to stay sane.”_ I could still hear the hurt.

_“Of course I didn’t forget—”_

_“Then what? Why are you calling? Damn it, Armie, you can’t keep doing this! You can’t keep calling me in the middle of the night whenever you feel like it, crawling away from your_ wife _so she doesn’t hear.”_ I don’t remember what I told him, some bullshit answer born out of embarrassment and fear that he would shut me out, I was sure. I only remembered his answer— “ _You’re killing me. I can’t keep doing this.”_

I called him on the occasional late night when I couldn’t sleep. I felt guilty about it the first few times but he was always awake and never seemed to mind. It stopped occurring to me after awhile that he was probably waking up from the calls, especially considering the time difference. I didn’t like to think about what it meant that he would answer, every single time; or that he never called me in the middle of the night, too afraid to bother me or Elizabeth. Always afraid to intrude, always too aware when I asked him to. It didn’t occur to me that he saw my motivations before I did.

_“I’m going to go back to my party. I need a few days—”_

_“Wait, please don’t,”_ I had begged him. In that moment, I knew he was slipping away, and while I didn’t want to admit _why_ , I knew if he slipped away tonight that we’d never recover.

_“Armie, don’t do this to me, not tonight.”_

I was an idiot. I had been so careless, so selfish. _“Do what?”_ I’d asked, though I think I knew deep down exactly what I was doing, what effect I had been having. I just didn’t want to believe it, I needed him to tell me.

“ _You know what,”_ he’s said. I wonder if he was trying to play off Elio’s words, thinking he probably was. It worked, it had the desired effect. I remember the silence that hung between us, mine caused by fear of the conversation ending, his caused by fear of revealing more.

_“I miss you—”_

_“God! You can’t fucking do this! Why are you doing this to me?”_ The memory of his words still stung, the sharp tick in his voice when he swore, the way I could hear laughter in the background, distant and cold. I told him I was sorry, that I didn’t mean to upset him, that I really did just _miss him_ , which did anything but help. It was like gasoline on a fire, and I think the alcohol in his system made him even more loose with his cruelty though I didn’t have any excuse for mine. It made me cry in the moment and tear up now. God, I really fucked up, I didn’t even know how I messed him up this much, how I got us to this point. _“You’re an asshole. Ever since that kiss you’ve been weird. I get it, it was a line we shouldn’t have crossed but stop fucking punishing me for it!”_

 _“I’m not punishing you!”_ I was still alarmed that he thought that. Still, I couldn’t believe that he thought I held it against him. I was the one who pushed him against the wall, it had been my hands that snaked under clothes, my hips against his, my fingers at his throat. It wasn’t his fault, I still couldn’t believe he thought it was.

 _“Then why do you keep torturing me? You don’t want me, I get it—but stop messing with my head,_ please _!”_ I remember how his breath was so ragged I wondered if he had started crying. It hurt my heart to know he felt this way, that every time I called him or teased him, he remembered the kiss and the words I spoke in a panic to silence him from revealing it to anyone. It never occurred to me that those words would hurt every conversation we had after. _“I’m so tired of pretending this isn’t hurting, Armie. I can’t keep doing this. I think it’ll be easier if I can just have a few days to clear my head. You should be with your family, too, that’s the whole purpose behind this trip, isn’t it? To reconnect or whatever,”_ his voice had been defeated, the angst in his sigh still pressing against my chest.

 _“You_ are _my family,”_ I had said. I meant it, too. He was my family, from the moment I saw him I knew he was my family. He was the piece I didn’t even realize was missing, the gaping hole that I didn’t realize could be stopped from bleeding me dry. I’d tell him again, right now if I could—he was my family, and he always would be. _“Timmy, I—”_

 _“Please don’t, don’t say anything else. Please, god, don’t say it, I won’t be able to get better this time if you say it,”_ he had said. I barely heard him, he was so quiet when he spoke. It broke my heart. He didn’t want to hear the three words I was desperate to say, that I needed him to hear. He didn’t want anything from me in that moment except to leave him alone, and the realization that I had already done more damage than I ever wanted to was a crushing weight on my heart.

 _“Fine,”_ I had whispered. _“I’m sorry,”_ I said, trying to make him understand but knowing the words wouldn’t register.

 _“I’m gonna go,”_ he had told me, clearing his throat. Then the line went dead and I was left in absolute silence, the waves doing nothing to comfort me.

I’d been sitting here ever since, waiting on that rock for I don’t know what. A part of me had hoped he’d call back, tell me to say those three words, tell me he loved me, too. I knew that even if that had happened, though, nothing would change. I was still here and he was still there, and I would still go back to bed with Elizabeth and we’d both still wake up without the other. Nothing would change, nothing would ever change.

I watched the water and thought about the day we filmed the Tregua beach scene. God, Timmy had been so hyper that day, I had no idea why. It was one of my favorite days filming just because of how happy he had been. Since we needed both day and evening shots in the water, Luca had basically told us we were just going to have fun and hang out until the light was right. The cameras turned off for hours. After we wrapped, Luca told us to get dressed and get ready to leave, but we ended up staying. They left us a vespa and Timmy and I sat in the shallow area of the water for hours, laughing and talking. That was the first time we kissed for real. He had pushed me under the water and ran his hand through my hair when I resurfaced, leaning against me as he laughed. It was so natural, I didn’t even think about it. I had reached down and kissed his cheek, then he had turned his head and connected our lips. It was quick, easy, and we never talked about it. It wasn’t a big deal then, but it was now. That was the beginning, the place where it all started getting messy for me. I like him then, I really liked him. But liking him was dangerous and the more I talked to him the harder I fell until the ground caved around me and there was nowhere else to go but down. Thinking back to the day we met and how he had smiled at me, I think perhaps we were always meant to fall, always doomed to stumble head over heels down into this abyss.

 

_—Timmy—_

I stared out over the city, cigarette hanging from my fingers. I flick the ashes over the edge of the balcony and lean forward, looking down at the street. There were millions of people just living their lives all around me, people who were happy and people who were in love and people who wanted nothing more than to feel something. I wasn’t sure which category I was in anymore. His call had shaken me more than I’d ever admit. My buzz had long worn off, though the initial shock of hearing his voice tonight had gotten me drunk faster than the shots Ansel made me do. I thought I was going to throw up when he called me his family, thought I’d break apart at the seams when he started to say what I never wanted him to say and mean. It wasn’t fair that he felt that way. I didn’t want to know he felt it. I didn’t want to know that if things had been different, it would be me. That in another life, another dimension where Armie isn’t married and doesn’t have kids, that he’d choose me a thousand times just like I’d choose him now.

It always surprised me that he didn’t seem to understand what he did to me. Anytime I got contemplative or my heart was in my hands with him, he acted like he didn’t understand that he had put it there, that it was his doing taking my heart out and exposing it for everyone to see. Every time he had pressed his lips against my body, as either Oliver or Armie, he was sealing my fate. Every time he laughed and leaned closer, he was ensuring no one would ever make my heart swell right again. How he didn’t understand that was beyond me. I liked to think that perhaps it was the same for him, but phone calls like tonight’s made me realize that the alley kiss was just a mistake, that the day we skipped town after Luca canceled filming for weather and laid in the water as it rained…that these moments were just moments, just _layers_ to his San Clemente mind that were buried under the layers of Elizabeth’s perfume and laughter and love and embrace and commitment. Of course it meant something different for him, of course it wouldn’t be the same.

Even if he did love me, even if I had let him say it, it would just be another layer to look at when it was dark and he was lonely. I knew this already, I knew that it would just be another thing he’d think about when he couldn’t sleep, another reason he’d press call and wake me up to talk. It wasn’t fair that he could say those words, could feel it, and still walk away. It wasn’t fair, and I hated him for it.

“Timmy? Ça va?” I turn and see Pauline shutting the door behind her and wrapping her arms around her body. She looked worried, and I didn’t blame her. It was almost one, I’d left the party nearly an hour ago to talk to him. I shrugged and looked back down at the people on the street, taking a long drag from my cigarette before putting it out and letting it drop to the ground, counting the seconds before it hit pavement. “What’s wrong?” she asked, placing a hand on my back and leaning against my side, her head on my shoulder. “You should be happy,” she says quietly.

“He called.” I let it gather the air between us until she understands.

“Did you tell him how you felt?” she asks, gently stroking my hair fondly. I let it comfort me, let myself stop holding back. I start crying, turning into her embrace and letting the moisture soak the fabric on her shoulder. She holds me as my body shakes and I wonder if this is how it feels to experience an earthquake, the uncontrollable instability that keeps you from getting the ground beneath your feet in any substantial way. She holds me until I can breathe, until I can think, until my body starts to recover and begins registering the below freezing temperature that’s been slowly freezing me over the past hour. I start shaking for entirely different reasons, the cold so deep in my bones that I’m grateful that at least I’m feeling something real and tangible and capable of being solved. She hurries me inside and puts me in front of the fireplace, grabbing a blanket from who knows where and wrapping it around me. I watch the flames, barely registering the music and conversation around me. Someone kisses me on the cheek, though I don’t know who. Someone else tries talking to me but it’s not his voice so I don’t really care. I don’t know how much time passes before Pauline sits next to me and hands me a beer. “Drink something, you’re going to go into shock, little brother.”

“Beer?” I ask, looking at it skeptically.

“I’d get you water but something tells me you’re going to turn down anything without alcohol in it right now,” she says with a small smile, putting her arm around me. I take the cup and drink, focusing on the feeling of it going down my throat. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. _Fuck him_ , I think. He’s ruining my party and he’s not even here. I down the drink and take the blanket off, standing. Pauline stands with me and ruffles my hair as I thank her. I walk over to the kitchen and grab another drink, down it, then another. I go to the room where everyone is laughing loudly and a dance circle has started. I stand near the edge and push him out of my mind until I start to feel the buzz coming on. I let myself feel nothing but the smiles and bumping shoulders, the rhythm and floor, the teasing and realization that memories are being made. I let myself enjoy what’s left of my party, dancing with all the girls who wanted me in high school and playing up the party side of me when their phones were revealed and stories were recorded. Let him see, let him watch me have fun after talking to him. Let him know that I can be someone without him, that I can be happy without him.

Even if it’s all a fabrication, let him see, and let him hurt, too.

 

**Author's Note:**

> you dont even know how hard it was for me to not give them a happy ending. The fact that it was specifically requested that it have a sad ending was gr8 for angst but this was like the first time ever when i actually wanted to write a happy ending lmfao oh well. it's pretty great as a hardcore angstfest so I'm pleased. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr! :)


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